have I mentioned that I'm Jewish?

This marks the fourth evening in a row that I have handled all three kids and put them to bed solo while Stupid Daddy is away at his Stupid Conference. I have to say, things have gone very well--far, far better than any other stretch in which I've parented by myself.

Some theories:
a) The boys have reached a point developmentally where they're not especially interested in fighting my every instruction and fighting each other to the death;
b) I've figured out how to drink just enough wine that I can tolerate their obnoxiousness in the evenings without feeling like shit the next morning (and believe me, if you saw just how many times I've had to retype every single word I've written so far, you'd put your money on this one);
c) because I'm Jewish, I can't leave well enough alone and have to talk about my good fortune on the Internet, knowing (because I'm Jewish) that all it takes is sharing my good fortune with the Internet to ensure that, as punishment, tomorrow will totally suck.

have I mentioned that I

don't know how to delete a post that I accidentally published?

What is wrong with me?

toddlers today

Lilah has a little friend named Sammy, whom she has known, from preschool, since infancy. Long before babies are supposed to have preferences for who they drool on and squeal at and sit next to at snack time, these two were clearly delighting in each other's company.

Neither has ever looked back. Now, almost two years later, they call out to each other on the playground, gleefully chase each other around our house, giggle when the other one gives them that special look. They really are in love.

But apparently, they really are in love. Moments ago, I was lying next to Lilah trying to get her to sleep. I rubbed her tummy; I sang her a lullaby. But her mind was on other things. She kept patting the empty space on the other side of her and saying, "I want Sammy, right here."

Just last night, it was her dolly she was calling for. Tonight, it was Sammy. First thing tomorrow, I'm going to find out whether they make diapers with a built-in chastity belt. Meantime, Stupid Daddy is loading his shotgun.

stands by her man

When Lilah was first born, it seemed that Ezra was going to be the brother who had a strong and abiding connection to her. He cuddled her, she cooed at him, he dangled colorful toys in front of her face. Whereas Levi--well, the day after she came home from the hospital, Levi knocked her out of her swing onto the hardwood floor, and that pretty much summed up their relationship.

Ah, but once Ezra started kindergarten, the tides turned. These days, Lilah is more or less indifferent to Ezra (and he to her), while she and Levi are completely in sync. They play together, they share their snacks, they egg each other on and get in trouble together. And yet, because she's so much younger, it's not exactly a partnership. Levi can treat her well but just as easily act cruel. Lilah, on the other hand, is downright worshipful.

A few months ago I took the two of them on a walk at a nearby lake. Levi, ever the explorer, kept venturing out towards the water on logs and boulders. Every time he did, Lilah started crying. "Be-bi, come back!" she'd scream. "Be-bi, careful!" And she wouldn't stop until he was back on solid ground. I wasn't worried at all, but she was absolutely panicked.

Yesterday the boys were wrestling on the couch, and all of a sudden Ezra started crying. It was obvious that Levi had done something to hurt him. But before I could launch into my generally ineffectual diatribe about playing nicely/apologizing/not being a bozo, Lilah, who was sitting at the dining room table, pointed in their direction and said, "Ezra hurt Be-bi too."

This morning, Lilah asked to help pick out Levi's clothing. When I opened up the shirt drawer, she said, "Spiderman shirt? Spiderman shirt?" It's Levi's favorite, and he would wear it every day if he could. When we found it, Lilah grinned very broadly. She knew her brother would be happy.

Hysterically nagging him, reflexively defending his honor, lovingly picking out his clothing in the morning: she's going to make an awesome housewife someday.

a game with its own liabilities

For the last few days, the boys have been in an intense wild cat phase. Yesterday morning at home they were leopards, chasing and clawing and hunting prey. Yesterday evening at the mall they were cheetahs, chasing and clawing and hunting prey. Tonight before bed they were tigers, chasing and clawing and hunting prey.

They are forever trying to rope me into these games. Sometimes I'm told I'm the mama cat, in which case I'm supposed to teach them how to chase and claw and hunt prey. Sometimes I'm told I'm the prey, in which case I'm supposed to run screaming and then allow myself to be captured and clawed at and nibbled on.

Overall, it's not so much fun for me, though I wish I could tell you otherwise. There's only so much energy I have left over for this kind of play, and if I kept at it, something bad might happen to my 40-year-old body, like getting really tired.

Because Ezra is the older of the two, he's the decider in this as in most things. He chooses the roles and the rules and generally bosses everyone around. But separate from that, he's more committed to these fantasies in the first place, whereas Levi is happy to play tiger but just as happy to abandon the hunt for prey and hop onto the bike with training wheels that's currently indoors ruining our newly finished floors.

So tonight, when I was tucking Ezra into bed, feeling bad that I don't play tiger as well as I'd like, I said, "Good night, my tiger." And I kissed him.

"I'm not playing tiger anymore," he said. "I'm playing your son."

a reconciliation with 40 that doesn't even last the duration of this post

My 40th birthday kicked ass and included an excellent, decadent dinner, some interesting drinks, and a small party with some good friends.

It was so much fun that I don't really feel bad about getting old right at the moment, though it was kind of depressing that with the combination of (a little bit of) drinking and staying up (slightly) late, Stupid Daddy and I had to spend the entire next day trading off naps until it was bedtime.

I'm going to keep it short tonight because Stupid Daddy just moments ago left for a conference and won't be back until Saturday night, and I think I'm suffering from some anticipatory exhaustion.

Either that or I still haven't recovered from Friday. In which case, shit, I really am old.

birthday conversation

"Am I ever going to get over the shock of turning 40?"

"The shock, yes. The reality, no."

"What do you mean?"

"It just changes your perspective. You start thinking in terms of how many years you have left."

"I've been doing that since I turned 30. But do you mean in a good way, like, I don't have a lot of time so I better really go for it? Or in a bad way, like, Shit, I'm never going to accomplish all that I wanted to."

"Both. I'm definitely more aware of how I spend my time and use my days. But I used to think that I had something great to give to the world--"

"Yeah, me too."

"--but now I just figure if I raise three healthy kids and have a happy marriage, I've succeeded."

"I wish I could lower my standards like that."